


Varric Has Terrible Friends (who love him very much)

by Lavavulture



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Romance, Background Carver/Isabela/Merrill, Emotional Constipation, M/M, background hawke/fenris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8596024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavavulture/pseuds/Lavavulture
Summary: Based on a kinkmeme prompt.  Varric thought he knew what he was about when he asked Cole to come with him to Kirkwall.  His friends and a persistent Cole show him that ignoring his feelings isn't the same as not having them.





	1. The Tavern

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up one morning and wanted an awkward-ass Cole/Varric story. As one apparently doesn't exist out there that I can find, I decided to write one. Hopefully I'm not the only one that likes the idea.

“There she is, Kid. Kirkwall.” Varric tapped the rough wood of the ship’s railing and forced a wider grin on his face than he felt as he looked over to Cole. “What do you think of her?”

Cole leaned forward, for once not tucking his face under his hat as he examined the towering labyrinth that was the city of Kirkwall. Varric knew he shouldn’t feel nervous, that it was just a damned city and one with a terrible reputation to boot, but he wanted the kid to like it. Varric knew it was a lot to ask of a person but it felt important to him that Cole should grow to love his city as much as he did, despite it clear awfulness.

“It feels like you, Varric. It has walls on top of walls and all the hurts are quiet from space and time.” Cole tilted his head and then nodded. “I’m happy that you brought me here.”

“Me too.” Varric blinked. “I think.”

 

When Varric had asked Cole to come with him to Kirkwall in the wake of the Herald’s victory, he hadn’t given it much thought beforehand. Varric wanted to get back home so badly he could practically taste the breakfast special at the Hanged Man and he knew that the kid didn’t have any real place to go. It had seemed obvious. He was fond of the kid and he wanted to keep his eye on him a little longer, just to help him figure out all the human stuff he was still exploring. Cadash was a great leader but he was so dwarfy and stern—good for self-righteous, bad-tempered Seekers but bad for wide-eyed former spirits trying to learn how to be people. Varric thought that he could do better and if he couldn’t, there was nobody more human than Hawke.

He hadn’t anticipated that their journey together would feel so strange. They’d spent time together in Skyhold, loads of it after the incident in Redcliffe, but it had usually been shared or interrupted by the other members of the Inquisition. Varric hadn’t spent so much one-on-one time with the kid and it felt different than what he’d expected. He’d had vague thoughts of it being like traveling with Merrill, his sweet-natured daisy, every day filled with him dispensing his hard-earned wisdom while Cole soaked it in like a wilted embrium finally getting some attention. But Cole was different from Merrill, more awkward and filled to the brim with the hurts he felt in people and lurking in his own borrowed memories. He handled it well, with little complaint, but Varric often felt like his instincts about what to say to Cole were off. Moreover even though Cole said that he liked his stories and did listen to him tell them with rapt attention, Varric felt like the wisdom he’d hoped to impart sounded trite when told to someone who knew so much about what was under everybody’s surface. 

Of course Varric might just feel weird about the whole situation because they’d been forced to share a bed on the boat to Kirkwall and there were few things as odd and intimate as sleeping shoulder to shoulder with someone. Cole slept like the dead, which helped a little but he also took up a lot of space with his long, long bony human arms and legs. Varric had spent weeks waking up to those limbs poking into him in the night.

“Be nice sleeping in your own bed tonight, right, Kid?” Varric grinned at a port authority agent and wasn’t surprised when he was waved through the check. This was his city. 

“I like sleeping with you, Varric,” Cole said, too loud, so loud that Varric started looking around for who might have heard this skinny human kid saying this to him and gotten the wrong idea. “You snore. It sounds like the Iron Bull at night but without the other noises.”

“Let’s, uh, just go ahead and talk about something other than you listening to Tiny and Sparkler going at it, okay?” Varric pulled gently on Cole’s arm when he got distracted by a shouting merchant as they made their way up through Lowtown.

Cole lowered his head again. Varric assumed if he was taller, Cole’s little head movements would have looked shy or worried but from his perspective it always just looked like the kid was peering down as if he was baffled by the floor. “All right. I’ve listened to other people have sex. Do you want to talk about them? Like Cadash and Cassandra?”

“Nope. No. Definitely, definitely not.” Varric intended to spend the rest of his life not thinking about Cassandra ever again. At least not until it was time to write his book about his time in the Inquisition. He already had some good lines written about the Seeker. Let’s see how big of a fan she was after she read that. 

“Oh,” Cole said and fell into another contemplative silence as they approached the Hanged Man. Once again Varric felt like he’d missed a step in their conversation. 

Varric shook off his unease and stopped before they could go into the tavern. He put his hand back around Cole’s skinny, pointy elbow and squeezed until Cole turned his head back towards him. “Now, Kid, there are some real creeps here and I’m not just talking about my friends. Stick close to me, okay?”

“I will, Varric,” Cole said and his eyes were focused so hard on Varric that it felt like a brand on his face. Varric half-wanted to look away but instead he gave Cole a mischievous, comforting grin and pulled him inside the tavern.

 

“They want to make me Viscount,” Hawke said to Varric in lieu of a greeting. He could barely contain his sharp smirk within his thick beard. At his side Fenris chuckled and reached out a hand to Varric.

“I’m certain he means hello. It’s good to see you again.” Fenris looked happier than he had the last time Varric had seen him, which made sense because the last time he’d seen him Hawke had just disappeared in the middle of the night without warning and the elf had been breaking everything he could see. By contrast now he was glowering only a little and glowing not at all.

“Yeah, great to see you,” Varric said with feeling and shook Fenris’s lean hand. He might have gone for a hug but he didn’t want to push his luck. Fenris was downright cuddly now compared to how he’d been when they’d first met but all that meant was that he didn’t look like he was going to drown anyone who looked at him. Varric would get all the hugs he could handle from Merrill and Isabela.

And also from Hawke who enveloped him in the biggest, tightest, manliest hug Varric had ever experienced despite their long history of best-friendly hugs. Varric laughed but hugged him back just as tightly. That close call in the Fade was still too fresh in his mind.

“I remember you,” Hawke said as he finally noticed Cole, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Colin, right?”

“Cole,” Varric said before the kid could respond. He shook his head as he guided Cole down on the bench beside him. It was a decent-sized bench but Cole still sat close to him, perhaps taking his earlier warning literally. “Pretty poor Viscount you’ll be if you can’t remember names and faces better than that.”

“Maybe you should do it instead. You never forget anything,” Hawke said slyly, his arm reaching over to bring Fenris into a loose sideways embrace. Fenris looked vaguely pleased, which Varric knew meant he was overjoyed by the whole situation. 

“Thank you for remembering me,” Cole said, his strange, breathy voice piercing through their ribbing like a dagger. He was in full-head-down-mode and Varric could see his eyes were blankly regarding a chicken bone on the floor. “Stroud wanted you to live. He was sorry that you fought.”

Hawke coughed in surprise and the languid, pleased expression on Fenris’s face was shifting back to the stony, suspicious look he usually had. Varric put his hand on Cole’s elbow once again and squeezed it until Cole turned that vague focus over to him.

“Maybe don't do that mind-reading stuff right now, okay, Kid? Save it for a boring party.” Varric squeezed his elbow again to let him know that he wasn’t annoyed or anything with his freaky, invasive spirit powers. There was just a time and a place for dredging up horrible memories and a happy reunion wasn’t it.

Cole actually flushed at his words, the soft pink glow making him look less like some ephemeral creature and more like one of Aveline’s new recruits getting a scolding. It made Varric feel strange to see it. The kid was almost cute when he was embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” Cole murmured softly, both to him and to Hawke and Fenris. “I forgot not to say it out loud.”

“More mages,” Fenris muttered, crossing his arms and jostling Hawke’s hand off of his shoulder. 

“I’m not a mage,” Cole said insistently, lifting his head up to stare at Fenris with an earnest expression. “I can’t be a mage or I won’t be what he wanted.”

“Cole’s a unique guy,” Varric said quickly, meeting Hawke’s eyes with some degree of desperation. He really should have thought of how to break the news of what Cole was before he’d gotten here. He’d been too distracted with the idea of trying to prepare Cole for Kirkwall that he’d given no thought to preparing Kirkwall for Cole.

“Well, he’s friends with you so he’d have to be,” Hawke said dismissively and Varric could have kissed his hairy human face in relief. Hawke wrapped his arm back around Fenris’s shoulder and pulled him tighter against him. “And I thought you were growing to like mages, Fenris. You like me, don’t you?”

Fenris pressed his palm to Hawke’s face when it was clear that the mage was going to lean in for a kiss but the pinched expression on his face had eased somewhat. “It’s not your magic that I like, Hawke.”

“Oh? Can I guess what you like about me?” Hawke beamed broadly and Fenris chuckled, shaking his head.

“Anybody know when Rivaini’s coming back to town?” Varric asked, leaning back in his chair. 

“Yes,” Cole said, very quietly, and then pointed to the door. Varric followed the length of his long arm by instinct and found himself waiting.

A second later Isabela did come charging through the door, stumbling and carousing with a group of men who looked like the textbook definition of ne’er-do-wells. The men scattered when they saw Hawke but Isabela grinned like a wolf spotting a fat lamb.

“Hawke!” Isabela said loudly. She was clearly well beyond three sheets to the wind. 

“Was that okay?” Cole asked Varric even as Isabela began stumbling over to them, her eyes lit up in joy at the sight of the rest of them.

“Yeah, Kid, that was fine,” Varric said and patted Cole on his knobby, human knee. The slight smile Cole offered back to him made him feel like he’d finally managed to say just exactly the right thing.

 

“Fenris, you must have been so lonely without Hawke around,” Isabela said in a drunken slur, her eyelashes fluttering suggestively. She leaned more heavily against Varric and yawned. “I know I was.”

“How could I be lonely with all those letters you sent me?” Fenris patted a bag on his side. “They were…very descriptive.”

“You didn’t show me Bela’s letters to you,” Hawke said in mock outrage, trying in vain to reach around Fenris’s body to get to the bag.

“It was none of your business,” Fenris said coolly. “You never wrote to me.” 

Varric could practically see Hawke’s ears droop at that like his dog’s did when he scolded him. On the other side of him Cole took another experimental sip of the beer Isabela had shoved into his hand as a greeting and Varric tried to remember how many sips he’d had. He also tried to remember if the kid had eaten anything today or if he was sending that cheap beer down into an empty stomach. Could he even get drunk?

The uncertainty worried Varric. So far he wasn’t sure if he was taking very good care of the kid for all that he’d intended on letting Cole live a normal human life with him for a bit in Kirkwall.

“You should eat something, Kid. That cheap shit Rivaini drinks is terrible by itself,” Varric said, jostling Cole in what he’d hoped would be a playful gesture but felt more like nagging. Cole blinked at him in surprise and Varric was struck for the first time at how oddly pale his eyelashes were. It was hard to see under his hat and the wild fringe of his hair but Varric had a better view than most people.

Isabela scoffed at his statement and leaned harder on Varric, peering around him to scan Cole up and down. Varric felt a sort of heavy tension fill his stomach at her attention. Isabela was a good friend and a harmless flirt but Cole wasn’t used to that sort of thing. He should have prepared him for her. 

“Tell me, Cole,” Isabela began, her voice shifting down to that low purr she employed when she had terrible misconceptions about things, “did you take good care of our Varric up in those cold mountains?”

“Andraste’s Ass, Rivaini.” Varric rubbed his head against the sudden headache forming there. Suddenly the slight space between him and Cole felt too close, too intimate but it would be even more awkward for him to move now.

“Varric helped me,” Cole said brightly and took another tiny sip of his drink, his throat moving as he swallowed hard. “I was angry and he said that it was okay, even if I want to hit people sometimes.”

Isabela laughed and pressed her cheek briefly to Varric’s back, her arms wrapping around him loosely. She sounded desperately fond and despite himself Varric felt soppy and warm at her regard, “Varric always does give such good advice.”

“Yeah, I definitely didn’t lose money on that Darktown expedition you sent me on, Varric,” Hawke said in a sarcastic drawl. He tugged on Fenris, who by this point was staring at a table of gamblers several feet away with avid interest. “We should get home before Carver locks us out.”

“Your brother’s here?” Isabela’s hands teased over the edges of Varric’s vest and he rolled his eyes, pushing her fingers away from his chest hair. She was a menace when she was horny and she was always horny when she was drunk. Which was always in the tavern.

“I picked him up from Weisshaupt. His idea, actually. He said he wanted to spend some time with family.” Hawke shook his head but he couldn’t hide his pleasure at the thought. “He’s being way too nice to me. I keep waiting for him to shove a statue on my head.”

“It sounds like you need someone to keep an eye on the puppy,” Isabela said, her eyes hooded. “Why don’t you be a friend and let me stay with you tonight, Hawke? I’ll leave my room for Varric’s friend here.”

Isabela paused and then turned her attention back to Varric. Her voice was back to that low, terrible purr, “Unless you’d prefer to help Cole in your own room?”

“I would like that better, I think,” Cole said contemplatively to his beer and Isabela’s smirk grew downright sharp.

“Get out of here, Rivaini. Go scare Junior.” Varric pushed her off of him a bit and Isabela let Hawke half-carry her out of the tavern. He was impressed that she only went for his ass once before they reached the door and got an impressive belly-laugh for her troubles. He nearly felt bad for Carver. Nearly.

“Everything is hot now. And it shivers on the edges,” Cole said in his softest voice. Varric turned to him and wasn’t too surprised to see the red flush coloring his pale face.

“That didn’t take much,” Varric muttered and pulled the beer away from Cole’s protesting fingers. He pushed his food over to Cole and frowned when the kid made a face at the sight. He wasn’t entirely sure why Cole hated eating so much but it was one of the few things that he was willing to fight his friends over. Cadash had given up on it long ago and Varric usually didn’t bother. Cole was an adult and he could choose not to eat like a petulant child if he wanted. But this was a special circumstance. “You’ve got to eat something, Kid. You’ll feel like shit in the morning if you don’t get something in your stomach.”

Cole frowned heavily, his long fingers picking at Varric’s roll in an accusatory fashion. “It’s lying. It pretends to help but it hurts if you don’t listen to it.”

“Well, instead of listening to your food, why don’t you listen to me?” Varric waved at Norah for some water.

“If I eat this, can I sleep with you tonight?” Cole asked with a touch too much eagerness just as Norah brought them a big pitcher. She shot Varric a surprised, questioning look and he wondered if the Maker would do him a favor and open just one more rift right above him.

“Come on, Kid, I know I’m fascinating but don’t you need a little break from me?” Varric tried to grin but it wilted a bit in the face of Cole’s tired, focused attention. Cole shook his head and Varric scratched the back of his head before continuing on, sheepishly, “You’ll like sleeping in your own bed. You can stretch out and listen to all new people snoring and going at it.”

“All right,” Cole murmured, looking disappointed. He ate a roll and obediently swallowed down a glass of water before following Varric on unsteady legs to one of the rooms. 

Varric had to help him into it as an inebriated Cole had the grace of a dizzy gazelle and he was struck by how heavy the kid was despite all of his skinny human limbs, not as solid as a dwarf but not the waif he looked like he was at first glance. He managed to get Cole under the covers—fully-dressed because the idea of undressing Cole made him feel so weird that he didn’t want to linger on it—and shoved another glass of water on the dresser beside him.

He was about to leave and perhaps drink a little more himself when Cole’s hesitant voice stopped him at the door, “Varric?”

“Yeah, Kid?” Varric turned partway around, just enough to see Cole cocooned under his blanket like a squirrel in a pile of leaves. It tugged strangely at Varric’s chest.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” Cole yawned. He had a long, pink tongue to go along with the rest of his too-long parts. Varric had a strange thought then that he shoved away immediately. He wasn’t Rivaini and he hadn’t drunk enough to excuse the thought.

“Thanks for coming,” Varric said and felt less awkward about it than he thought he should. He smiled at the kid and tapped on the wood of the doorway before leaving.

 

That night Varric spread himself out on his old, familiar bed and pulled up all of his old, familiar blankets, freshly laundered by Norah’s own familiar hands. It was just as cozy and comfortable as he remembered, with the fireplace roaring gently beside him and the soft hum of the sleepy tavern all around him. He was certainly home again and in no time flat he would enjoy his old, familiar life.

He proceeded not to sleep a wink the entire night.


	2. The Brothel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is really a niche within a niche so at this point it feels even more like I'm writing something specifically for myself. So from me to me before I have wake up at 3 in the morning tomorrow to travel for the holidays, here's the next chapter. If anybody else also likes it, that's also great!

Varric woke with the sluggishness of someone who had slept hard and could easily go down for a little more. His heavy eyelids opened just enough to show him a long-fingered hand resting limply on the bedsheet beside him. 

He stared at the hand and blearily wondered.

It was too big to belong to Bianca, beautiful and clever-fingered Bianca. Also Varric had never woken up before Bianca in all the years of their clandestine nights together. Bianca fell to bed only if something interesting was calling her there or if she collapsed from exhaustion. She would sleep until the drive to create woke her up again and then she would hurry to her makeshift workshop.

So the hand definitely didn’t belong to Bianca, which meant that it must belong to someone else. Varric was pleased enough by this revelation that he almost went back to sleep before the faint smell of metal and smoke filled his nose and he realized who was currently spooning him in his bed.

Cole. Cole was wrapping his spindly limbs around him like he was a dwarf-sized teddy bear, resting his chest to Varric’s wide back as though it was as natural as eating or drinking. Not that Cole did either of those things very naturally.

Varric pondered over his situation until enough clarity reminded him why Cole was in his bed. Isabela had reclaimed her old room at the tavern. She had offered to let Cole stay in her room with a shark-wide smile that said way too many things for Varric to contemplate. Varric had refused on Cole’s behalf because Cole didn’t like to say no to people, kind and gentle soul that he was. It was really no trouble to let Cole stay in his room until Varric could think of a better solution.

And that was why Cole was in his bed. Varric began to drift back to sleep once again—so grateful that after days of restlessness he was apparently tired enough to actually get a good night’s sleep. There was a small voice nagging in the back of his mind that all of his mental investigation didn’t answer why Cole was wrapped around him like a warm octopus but that was something he could deal with later. Much, much later. Now it was time to sleep.

 

“It was a little cold last night, don’t you think?” Varric said. His opening gambit to the awkward conversation he was about to have with Cole made him wince. 

Cole was the only person he’d ever met that always looked more tired in the morning, his eyes heavily lidded and his hair a wild rumple of blond. Cole rubbed his eyes and yawned wide before turning his attention fully on Varric.

“No. I wasn’t cold. It was nice,” Cole said. His tone was just on the edge of cranky and it was clear that he wished he could go back to sleep. 

There was a strand of hair in his mouth, which Varric discovered was enough to distract him away from the important talk he knew he needed to have. Varric came over to him and intended to pull the hair away from his face but Cole eagerly leaned against his hand as soon as he touched his cheek. Then Varric froze in surprise and the second stretched into an awkward eternity of him cupping Cole’s face while Cole closed his eyes and leaned down.

“Kid,” Varric said and cleared his throat in the hopes that it would let something truly inspirational rise up from his gut. Instead nothing came out and he absently pushed the strand of hair away from Cole’s mouth with his thumb. The edge of his thumb brushed against Cole’s bottom lip and Varric had the very strange, very unsettling thought that the kid had a soft mouth.

“Varric,” Cole said but Varric didn’t think he was saying it to bide time until he said something brilliant and distracting. Varric had a feeling—deep down in his stomach where no brilliance was bubbling up from—that Cole was saying it in that strange, breathy voice he had because he liked to say his name.

At this point there was only one logical place two people could go after holding together in this bizarre tableau for several seconds and as Varric found his gaze drawn to the spot where a strand of hair had previously occupied, he wondered if he was going to follow the script.

“Varric,” Cole said again and he was leaning down further; Varric could see what was going to happen and he blamed his shock for why he was frozen in place, waiting for something that he was trying desperately not to think about.

“Varric, we need to talk about your little shipping manifest scheme,” Aveline said as she stomped into Varric’s room. She came to a sudden stop when she saw them and blinked hard. “Oh! Sorry. I didn’t mean to…interrupt.”

Varric jumped away from Cole so fast that it was a wonder he didn’t leave parts of him behind. He laughed too loudly for it to be convincing and went over to Aveline.

“I was just showing the kid something,” Varric said in the least convincing voice anyone had ever used in the history of Thedas. He forced a wide smile over his pathetic attempt at distraction and actually patted Aveline on her forearm like that was something that they normally did. Aveline stared at his hand on her arm with a heavily furrowed brow. “I’d love to talk to you about my exciting new Starkhaven enterprise. Let’s go discuss it over breakfast.” 

He began to herd Aveline out of his room before throwing his most genial voice back to Cole, “Coming, Kid?”

“No,” Cole said, his head tilted in surprise, but he followed them anyway.

 

“He’s doing it on purpose,” Hawke complained. His face was practically parallel to the tavern table.

“Stop whining, Hawke. I’m sure Carver isn’t doing this to spite you,” Aveline said in her usual firm way but Varric couldn’t help but notice that she looked uncharacteristically doubtful. She soldiered on regardless. “You should be happy for your brother. You must approve of him and Merrill.”

“Oh, I approve. I’m filled with approval. I could write a book about how much I approve. I love Merrill like she was my little sister. Which is why I’m tired of seeing her constantly on top of my little brother everywhere in my own home.” Hawke poked the table for emphasis and sighed. “They have two bedrooms for that sort of thing. I have to make do with one.”

“And an entire mansion a few blocks over,” Varric said, taking a deep swig of his cider, and smirking. He’d firmly pushed away whatever strange mess that was this morning and fully thrown himself into how rested he felt. He was finally back into the swing of things and he was getting the sleep to prove it.

There was still the little matter of finding a place for Cole but he figured there was no real need to rush. If the kid was fine bunking with him, who was he to scrounge up some fancier accommodations? He would just throw a few more logs onto the fire tonight and that would certainly take care of the whole cuddling situation. Varric knew he let off heat like a furnace on the coldest of days. Cole wouldn’t be able to handle him on a hot night. Hot, slick nights when even breathing took effort and all a body wanted to do was strip naked and soak it in.

Varric jumped when a drunken patron dropped his mug and resolutely pushed all thoughts of heat-related nakedness out of his mind.

“Mmmm, Fenris is thinking of giving up the mansion,” Hawke muttered to the table. He propped his chin up and stared at Fenris playing cards with Isabela and Cole a few tables down. “Maybe Carver would be happier staying in a haunted slaver’s mansion? I’ve found most of the leftover bones.”

“No way, Hawke. That’s a prime piece of real estate. Fenris could make a fortune off of that thing.” Varric thought that stereotypes about greedy dwarves were hurtful and unimaginative. But he would like to get a cut of those profits.

“He doesn’t actually own that mansion, you know,” Aveline said archly.

“Details.” Varric waved his hand dismissively. He would barely have to go two levels deep into his business contacts to make that little issue disappear.

“It might be a good idea,” Hawke mused. He nodded to the table where Fenris was looking increasingly disgruntled. “Cole is getting so much money off of Fenris in these games that I’m going to go broke soon.”

“Stop exaggerating,” Varric said, eyes narrowing as he also watched Fenris drop his cards on the table with an exasperated sigh. Isabela looked so pleased that one would think that she had won, even though she’d lost several hands ago. Cole looked the same as he always did as he gathered together the winnings and began putting the coins into his many secret pockets.

If there was only one unsettling aspect to bringing Cole to Kirkwall, it was that he would have never guessed that Isabela would take to him so much. Varric had had vague thoughts that Merrill and Cole would become the best of friends, so close that one day—perhaps after Bianca’s husband died in a tragic boredom-related incident—they might progress to gentle hand-holding and magically producing adorable elven babies.

But while Merrill was sweet and polite to Cole, Varric had the vague impression that if she’d been there in that room that day with the Inquisitor that she would have sided with Solas. And as the reunion between Merrill and Carver had led to a surprising amount of distressingly public sex, Varric supposed the elven-spirit babies were out of the picture. That was fine, he supposed. He wasn’t sure it worked that way anyhow.

What was less fine was the way that Isabela was determined to introduce Cole to every vice she knew about, a mission which showed no sign of slowing down. She’d painstakingly taught Cole how to play diamondback, introduced him to all of the various kinds of disgusting beer in the Hanged Man, and been delighted at how easily he could pick a lock. Varric was vaguely worried about that one.

Varric was happy his friends were accepting Cole into their fold, truly. He just wished that he wasn’t quite so worried about what Isabela would try to teach Cole next.

His fears were further exacerbated when the three left their table and wandered over to them, Isabela hanging on Cole’s arm like a proud, inappropriate mother.

“I’m going to borrow Cole up to Hightown for a bit of shopping, Varric. You don’t mind, do you?” Isabela leaned forward just enough to make her chest all anyone could really focus on. It was one of her favorite bargaining techniques.

“What could you possibly buy in Hightown?” Aveline asked, suspicious.

“You don’t have to ask me, Rivaini.” Varric forced away a scowl and leaned back in a cool, casual way to show that he really didn’t care at all. “Have fun, Kid. Don’t take the first offer people give you; it’s always too high.”

“All right,” Cole said. He seemed strangely fidgety, even for him. Varric could only assume that Isabela was up to something illegal and nefarious. It couldn’t be truly bad or Cole wouldn’t agree to it but Varric was still wary.

He hoped that Isabela was better at avoiding Aveline’s guards than she thought she was.

 

“You need to come with me,” Aveline said in a harsh whisper, yanking Varric out from behind his desk. The papers he’d been writing on scattered and Varric rolled his eyes in exasperation. People didn’t understand the delicacy of the creative process.

“What did Hawke do now?” Varric asked, wondering how much trouble his friend could have gotten into in just the few hours since he’d left the tavern. The possibilities were frighteningly endless.

“Oh, it’s not Hawke this time. Your…friend was involved in a brawl in the Blooming Rose.” Aveline pursed her lips. “I’ve already dealt with Isabela but I thought you might want to handle Cole.”

Varric spent a hot second trying to figure out how Aveline might have handled a disruptive Isabela when the reality of what she was saying hit him.

“Cole was in the brothel. Fighting?” It would have had to be a truly spectacular brawl for Madame Lusine to summon the guards versus having her own people deal with it. She didn’t like the inevitable awkwardness of having the guards show up when they were working. 

“Luckily none of the other patrons involved want it out that they were there but I’m not having this, Varric.” Aveline fixed Varric with a glare that clearly said that this was his fault, which he didn’t think was fair. Surely Isabela had to shoulder all of this blame. She was the one who thought taking Cole to a brothel was a good idea. 

Varric almost laughed at the idea. He wondered how many of the workers Cole had helped convince to reunite with their estranged families. He also wondered if it was a good idea to invite Iron Bull to come and visit him. He had the feeling that he and Isabela would get along way too well.

As they entered the Guards’ Quarters, they could hear Isabela regaling a particularly burly guard with a story that would have made even Varric blush if he hadn’t already heard it five times before.

“Not in my barracks, whore,” Aveline said sharply. Varric was impressed that only the very tops of her ears were blushing this time at hearing the story’s punchline. Pretty soon she’d be telling it to Donnic.

“If you come by the Hanged Man tonight, I’ll tell you another story,” Isabela said and watched the guard scurry away under Aveline’s burning glare.

“Rivaini, I just can’t let you out of my sight for a minute, can I?” Varric rubbed his chin. “What did you do to the poor kid?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Isabela protested. She crossed her arms over her prodigious chest to show that she was being serious and raised her chin. “I was having a civilized conversation with the bookkeeper and suddenly I got punched in the back of the head.”

“Well, that’ll teach you for dragging Cole to a brothel,” Varric said in the prim voice he used to use whenever he’d gotten the better of his brother in a debate. Thankfully Isabela didn’t retaliate by making him eat his chest hair.

“I don’t drag people anywhere. It was his idea.” Isabela laughed at the expression Varric knew was on his face. “I mean it, Varric. Just because you want to keep the poor thing cloistered up like you doesn’t mean he’s happy with it. He was curious.”

Isabela nodded to one of the rooms. “Ask him yourself.”

“I’ll get this all straightened out,” Varric told Aveline and then shook his head at Isabela when he walked by. She must really be feeling guilty if she was telling such a ridiculous lie.

 

“Yes, I was curious,” Cole said. His tone was pretty serene despite the massive bruise that was taking up residency on his cheek. Cole bounced his legs slightly from the upper bunk of one of the twin beds in the guardroom before swinging off. He landed so heavily on his feet that it made Varric wince but he seemed unperturbed. 

“Oh.” Varric coughed and tried once again to regain his equilibrium. “I mean, that’s natural. I’m sure you have lots of questions about…lots of things.”

Questions that Varric had thought that Dorian and Iron Bull had answered with their usual lack of discretion and disturbing diagrams. But he could answer them. Or maybe Hawke could if he bribed him not to be too sarcastic about the whole thing. 

“No.” Cole touched the bruise on his cheek and then his pale eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected it to hurt. “I didn’t want to ask any questions. I wanted to practice.”

If Cole had told him that he wanted to assassinate the Orlesian Empress and put Hawke’s dog in charge of the Chantry, Varric wouldn’t have been more surprised. Varric looked immediately towards the door to make sure that it was shut. This was a conversation he definitely didn’t want anybody to overhear.

“Practice? In the brothel. Practice.” Varric wondered if he had ever actually been good with words or if everybody had just been humoring him his entire life. “Practice with the prostitutes at brothel-related…practices.”

“Not sex.” Now Cole was looking at him like he thought he needed to explain the basics to him. Varric wondered briefly, madly, how bizarre that conversation would be. Cole paused, considering. “Not yet. I wanted to practice kissing. I didn’t know how you start kissing. Your books always made it sound like it just happens but it hasn’t.”

Varric pursed his lips at this unexpected bit of literary criticism. “Well, you know, usually there’s a build-up to it but most of the time readers just want to get to the good--”

And then Varric wasn’t talking because Cole was kissing him. Cole was kissing him. On his mouth where his lovers and once a drunk Bodahn had kissed him. 

Varric couldn’t be blamed for not pulling back right away because of course his shock was so great. His shock was the reason why he found his hands rising up to grip uncertainly around Cole’s bony, human waist. Shock was responsible for how he closed his eyes and ignored Cole’s hat hitting his forehead and deepened the kiss. Shock was entirely to blame for how he began to wonder if he could maneuver them over to the bed to continue this kiss without bending Cole’s poor, too-long spine over so much.

His shock lasted for an admirably long time but eventually it wore off enough that he had to pull back just a little. Cole was staring at him in an unsettling way and his lips were red and wet and his bony back was attached to a not-so-bony ass, as Varric discovered when his hands slipped around to cup it without his conscious permission.

“I hope you tipped well because that prostitute really showed you something,” Varric said. It was the first thing that came to mind and he regretted it as soon as it passed through his stupid mouth. He’d definitely never actually been good with words. His mother had just been humoring him because he was the runt of the litter.

Cole blinked. “We didn’t get to kiss. He was talking to me and a man got confused because he thought I was in the room he was supposed to be in. That’s when everybody started fighting. A woman hit my face with a bottle but she didn’t mean to. I was in the way.”

“Oh.” Varric nodded and allowed a fresh wave of shock at Cole’s words to well up in him again so that he could explain why he pulled the kid back down to his mouth and kissed him again. 

This time his shock lasted long enough for Aveline to start pounding on the door to the barracks and shouting at him to let her men back in. Varric was glad that his temporary ailment hadn’t put them in too compromising of a position when Isabela jimmied the lock open but he was pretty sure that she knew what they were doing anyway. 

Mostly because she leaned over and hissed “I knew it” as Varric pulled Cole awkwardly out of the room. Varric could take a hint. 

Varric was going to drown himself in about a quart of Norah’s finest beer-battered fish soup and pray that tomorrow he would wake up a less easily-startled man.


	3. The Mansion

Varric’s publisher was going to feed him to the fabled sharks in the Darktown sludge if he didn’t finish his next book. So obviously his excuse this week was that he was doing in-depth research, although if the truth were told, he was still only skirting the surface.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Varric murmured in-between long, exploratory kisses. The words were said on instinct rather than coming from any of his higher brain functions.

“Why?” Cole asked and shifted in an awkward way on his lap. Cole was constantly shifting, constantly fidgeting, like an overexcited nug in front of a feast. Varric was supportive of his quirks because he wanted to be a good friend and because he shifted most often when he was sitting on him, all his bony limbs akimbo as he tried to figure out where to fit his hands, his too-long legs.

“Why what?” Varric asked, distracted as he bit at Cole’s sharp collarbone. Humans were so narrow and pointy. It was worrisome. He wanted to see if Cole was as narrow and pointy everywhere—for friendship’s sake if nothing else. Maybe dwarves should be constantly trying to feed their non-dwarf friends.

“Why shouldn’t we kiss?” Cole scratched down Varric’s chest, his face serious and curious as he carded his fingers through the auburn hair.

The question hit Varric hard enough to pull back. There were so many reasons in his head that he couldn’t sort them all out.

_Because I look like I’m twenty years older than whatever age you’re pretending to be. Because it was my idea that you should become like this and it feels like I’m taking advantage. Because you’re my friend and this is the best way to ruin a friendship. Because you’ve never done any of this before and I don’t know how to be someone’s first and the idea terrifies me and I don’t like dealing with shit that makes me feel like this._

Varric thought all of that and couldn’t say any of it but Cole pulled back anyway, his gaze falling from Varric’s chest to a distant spot on the floor as he _listened_.

“Oh,” Cole said in sudden understanding.

Once again Varric was rendered completely speechless in the face of Cole’s knowing, staring eyes. That was maybe the most important reason of all.

_Because I’ve relied on words my whole life and you don’t even need mine to know me and you’re leaving me nowhere safe to hide._

Cole touched against his lips, his long fingers trailing along and then down. He looked desperately worried and, worst of all, guilty. “I’m sorry.”

“Kid,” Varric managed out but Cole had already stumbled off of his lap with the grace of a dozy halla and half-stumbled out of the room. Varric leaned his head back in his chair. “Shit.”

 

“I’m not going back for a while,” Carver told Varric and took a drink of his beer. At his side, Merrill looked positively ecstatic at the news, although she’d clearly already been aware of his decision. Across the table Isabela smirked.

“Had enough of being a Warden already, Junior?” Varric grimaced as he accidentally poured some of his beer down the front of his chest. Surely he hadn’t had that much yet. 

“No, I love it. I just want to try something different for a bit,” Carver said with more of that unsettling confidence he’d developed while he’d been away. Varric didn’t know if he liked a Carver Hawke who had grown into a self-assured adult. Carver glanced across the table and he and Isabela and Merrill exchanged furtive glances that were much less secretive than they might have supposed.

“Merrill and Carver are going with me on an expedition to Antiva. It’s so lucrative this time of year and I could use the extra hands.” Isabela showed remarkable restraint when she only winked after her statement, her fingers twitching on the table.

Varric snorted and managed to get some of the beer into his mouth this time. He wondered where Cole was. Hawke and Fenris were obviously off enjoying their mostly empty house and Aveline was probably terrorizing her men but he didn’t know what Cole did when he wasn’t with him. And he hadn’t been with him in days.

He didn’t know if the kid was trying to give him space or if he was embarrassed about what he’d gleaned from Varric’s head during their last encounter or if he’d just gotten really involved in some underground resistance movement and was even now fighting hordes of slavers while protecting baby elves but Varric didn’t like any of the likely possibilities. He wished Cole would sneak back up behind him so that he could explain. And he was certain that he would be able to come up with an explanation if he saw him.

“You could come too, Varric.” Isabela leaned across the table and he admired her breasts as she had intended. 

“Ah, the sea life isn’t for me, Rivaini. You know that.” Varric offered up a sharp grin. “Did you ask the Kid yet? He might want to get out of Kirkwall.”

He said it so casually that everybody who heard it could only surmise that he was fine with Cole leaving Kirkwall because obviously he was. Cole could go anywhere he wanted, even if it was an oceans-length away from him and the idea made him want to flip over a table.

Isabela actually scoffed and Merrill’s soft, gentle face looked softly and gently at him. But the straw that ultimately broke the druffalo’s back was that Carver gave him a quick glance filled with heartfelt pity and some mild scorn because he was still kind of a judgmental asshole deep down. 

Varric felt a cold shiver snake up his back and he set his flagon on the table with more force than he’d intended.

Carver Hawke thought that he was being childish. Carver “My-Big-Brother-Gets-Everything-Including-All-the Murder-Attempts-and-I’m-Still-Jealous” Hawke thought that he was running away from his real feelings and pitied him for it.

“Andraste’s Ass,” Varric said, as stunned as he’d ever been in his life. 

Varric was fine with most people’s judgement because he knew who he was and accepted it. But there was no fucking way that he was going to let Junior believe that he was a better-adjusted (but still emotionally insecure) younger brother than him.

 

That being said, he still didn’t see Cole for a few days, even though he’d put out feelers throughout the city looking for him. He made some deals and fought in a few dragon-infested caves with Hawke and pretended to write while all the time trying to do the thing he never liked to do. He housed himself in Bertrand’s old manor because it made him so unsettled that thinking about anything other than his dead brother was easier.

He was so shitty at dealing with his feelings. He knew that. He was good at avoiding them, denying them, and burying them under a charming blanket made out of bullshit and distraction. But mulling them over had never been in his wheelhouse. 

He’d written half a letter to Bianca about the situation because nobody understood him like her but ultimately he’d decided that even in their nebulously-defined relationship, it would be gauche for him to talk about a potential lover to his long-time one.

Plus Bianca would have told him to stop being such an ass and do something already if he was going to mope around about it.

So he had feelings for the kid. They weren’t platonic feelings. They weren’t protective feelings. They weren’t fatherly feelings.

Even in the safety of Bertrand’s manor, far away from all his friends and probably away from Cole, who was clearly staging a revolution on behalf of all the city nugs, Varric had a hard time just saying it.

“Hello,” Cole said, scaring Varric into falling backwards in the chair he’d been perilously leaning back in. Cole caught the back of the chair before Varric could brain himself on Bertrand’s meticulously varnished floor. 

“I’m sorry,” Cole murmured as he helped him right himself. He looked worried and guilty again and suddenly all the stupid bullshit that had been floating around in Varric’s head seemed so pointless that he felt ashamed. Cole didn’t know what the fuck he was doing ever but he still tried so what excuse did Varric have?

“You don’t have to be sorry, Kid. I’m the one who’s been a jackass.” Varric put his hand down on top of Cole’s long, human hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry.”

“I wanted and the wanting was bigger than helping and I thought that it could be both. You’re hard to hear and I tried to make my wanting fit around you instead of listening better.” Cole still looked guilty. “I won’t want anymore so you can feel better.”

“That’s not going to make me feel better.” Varric rubbed his face with his free hand and sighed. “Look, I wanted to help you and when I started to feel some stuff I didn’t expect, I didn’t handle it right. I thought I could just ignore it and things could stay like they were but that’s not possible and I don’t want that.”

“What do you want?” Cole asked and it was clear from his tone that he would walk across Thedas to get it for him.

“Well, you know,” Varric began contemplatively, rubbing his chin. “People always say that actions speak louder than words.”

And for the first time Varric didn’t distract himself with bullshit when he leaned up and kissed Cole on his worried human mouth. But Varric couldn’t keep his words inside for very long. That just wasn’t his style.

“I’m really glad that you’re here with me, Cole,” he said as he pulled away slightly.

Cole’s eyes began to drift down the floor in contemplation so Varric took his chin in his hand and kissed him again and again until it was clear that the kid wasn’t listening to anything other than the soft, nonsense praises spilling out of Varric’s mouth in-between their brief separations.

And it was really good.

 

“I like the part with the little boat,” Cole said, his long fingers sliding over the words on the manuscript.

Varric clucked at him in mock-disapproval, catching up his hand in his own and bringing it back down to his chest where it belonged. “It’s a pirate ship, Kid. Pirates don’t like it when you call it little.”

“He pulled a ship out of his pocket and didn’t ask for the usual price. She hung it over her bed so she could always remember that he saw her.” Cole eagerly slid his fingers through the rough hair on Varric’s chest and pressed closer. He was huffing warm breath along Varric’s neck in a way that had to be uncomfortable for his back and was quickly distracting Varric from his writing.

“You promised you’d let me finish this tonight,” Varric said in fond exasperation. 

His newest book was now several weeks past its deadline but Varric couldn’t seem to care. His publisher would never be able to find him in his brother’s mansion, which he’d decided to keep after all his time spent stewing in it. There was something poetic to the idea of necking in every room in his brother’s high-class estate, generally on top of fine dwarven furniture. 

Bertrand would have hated it. Varric was starting to see why Carver had found it so appealing.

“You don’t like the end anymore,” Cole murmured. “You need a new one.”

“You’re going to help me with that?” Varric nudged Cole’s face to his and kissed him.

Cole deepened the kiss, already squirming so much on Varric’s lap that he knew he needed to slow them down if he didn’t want them going much farther. They’d gotten pretty far over the past few weeks but Varric still felt nervous over the idea of sleeping together. He’d never been with a human before. He was fairly certain all their parts were similar, if oddly shaped in places. He desperately wanted to find out but what if Cole didn’t like it? What if he was such a terrible lover that Cole abandoned his human flesh and floated back up to the Fade to tell all his spirit friends about it? Worse, what if he accidentally hurt him? Humans were so damn skinny.

“Yes, I want to help,” Cole said and he took the quill out of Varric’s hand set it firmly down on the desk before leaning down to kiss him again. “Isabela said you’d write better if you had a clear head.”

“Can’t argue with the Captain, I guess.” Varric took a hold of Cole’s arms and pushed him back over the desk.

At least one part was definitely similar, Varric thought as Cole settled his back onto the desk, which made his hips rise up closer to him. He was curious as to how similar it was and he rubbed Cole’s thighs on either side of him in an unconsciously nervous way.

Cole made a soft noise in the back of his throat and stared at him with those huge, consuming eyes. “Varric?”

“Yeah, Kid?” Varric swallowed hard and rubbed his thumbs harder into the soft leather under his hands.

“I would like,” Cole paused and his voice became oddly stilted like he was repeating something he’d heard, “to help you do research for your love scenes.”

Varric made a strangled noise that was half-scandalized, half-hysterical. The laughter won in the end. “Where did you get that from?”

“Hawke told me to say it and see if it worked.” Cole squirmed under Varric’s hands and propped himself up more on his elbows. He looked very serious. “Did it work? I do want to have sex with you right now, please.”

Varric chuckled again and sheepishly raised one of his hands up to rub his head. He was going to write such an unflattering section about Hawke in his next volume about the Champion’s adventures. Although.

“Well, I have been thinking of writing a new book. It’s about a handsome dwarven rogue who meets a cute human-shaped spirit. They have some big adventures and then one day they…I don’t know, help a mage and a prickly elf warrior fight way too many bandits in some sewers.”

“They were hiding under the stairs. I saw them,” Cole said, lifting one of his fingers up to rub at his ear. “They didn’t come from nowhere like Hawke thought.” 

“Right, they fight the bandits and realize how precious life is and how few years the Maker has promised his children or some shit like that and then they come back to the dwarf’s finely-appointed mansion and consummate their passion on the dwarf’s brother’s finest bed.” Varric pulled one of Cole’s knees over to him and kissed the side of it before grinning. “What do you think?”

“It’s a good story. I like it,” Cole said and then slipped off the desk. Varric looked up at him in surprise before Cole began pulling on his arm. “But I don’t want to hear a story anymore, Varric.”

“Enough brainstorming, I see.” Varric got up and clutched Cole’s hand in his own. “Time for the first draft.”

 

Cole wasn’t really that thin, Varric decided, and even though his arms and legs were quite a bit longer than those on the average dwarf, they had their own strange appeal.

“Varric,” Cole said, the word half a moan as Varric continued to stroke him. He was twisting on the bed, his whole body flushed pink with excitement. When Varric finally let him go in order to finish pulling off his own clothes, Cole collapsed back onto the bed with curious pants.

“If you like that, you’ll love this,” Varric told him before leaning down to take his cock into his mouth. The reaction was immediate and explosive. Cole clearly didn’t know what to do with his hands as Varric sucked him off, his longer fingers lighting in Varric’s hair briefly and then flitting away to clutch at his shoulders, the bed, and even each other.

Varric was glad that he liked it since, truth be told, he hadn’t had much experience even with dwarven dicks. Although he found that he rather liked Cole’s long cock, so responsive that he was pretty sure anything else was going to set it off. That was worth investigating. Varric reached for the small jar of slick he’d bought on a hopeful whim a few weeks ago and soaked his fingers in before sliding them on the hot flesh of Cole’s thighs, his sensitive balls, and then, slowly, against the soft skin around his entrance.

Cole came so hard that it almost choked Varric, his cries startled and loud enough to probably rouse the sleeping ghosts in the mansion. Varric held onto his strong hips so that he wouldn’t accidentally be asphyxiated during experimental dwarf-spirit sex and be forced to watch Hawke’s terrible eulogy from the afterlife.

“How are you doing there, Kid?” Varric asked, sliding up onto his knees on the bed, still nestled between Cole’s long legs. 

“Cassandra read that the fiery Captain of the Guard thought release felt like she was falling to pieces,” Cole murmured in a slow, thoughtful way as he pressed his cheek to the bed. “It didn’t feel like that. It was much nicer.”

“Everybody’s a critic,” Varric said and then swallowed again, hard. He knew what he wanted but there was still a tiny hesitant voice inside of him that was afraid to go any further.

Cole looked at him from the corner of one eye, the gaze distant, and then suddenly Varric felt those long legs rise around him, pulling him closer. “I want to know what else feels different.”

“All right.” Varric discovered that all his ready quips and deflections had fled him as his cock pressed against Cole’s warm skin. “All right. But let’s be slow with this. Tell me if it hurts.”

Cole shifted on the bed and almost looked amused as he watched Varric slick up his thick cock and press it to his hole. “I remember dying for days, dark and deep in the ground. I don’t think it will hurt like that.”

“That’s fair,” Varric said between gritted teeth as he pressed against unyielding flesh. Cole’s mouth fell open in surprise as he continued to push forward. “Um, but maybe no death talk during sex, okay?”

“Oh.” Cole blinked hard and spread his legs further apart. “Oh!”

“We doing okay here?” Varric paused, his muscles tight with the strain of holding back. The thick head of his cock had pushed into Cole’s body and it felt sliding into warm silk. 

“Oh.” Cole dug the heel of one of his legs into Varric’s back and pulled him closer, deeper, before moaning low in his throat.

“Talk to me, Kid,” Varric said and pulled back a little.

“Oh, don’t, I want more of you now,” Cole protested and Varric laughed, feeling a relief so profound that it bordered on ecstasy.

“This is a part of it. In and out.” Varric demonstrated and they both shuddered. “Nice and easy right now.”

“I like in.” Cole fixed him with a wild, demanding stare. “Always in.”

“In and out.” Varric reached for Cole’s legs and found that they slid so easily over the tops of his shoulders. Maybe there was something to be said for their length, especially since this gave him a great position to move at a faster pace, thrusting in and out quickly enough that Cole’s breathing picked up a frantic hitch. He could hear his own breath, harsh and erratic as he watched Cole writhe under him. He’d never been a poet—that wasn’t where his writing talents lay—but he thought he could write a good dozen dirty limericks about how good Cole looked on his cock.

“Varric,” Cole said and the desperate longing in his voice hit Varric right in the gut. Or truthfully a little lower.

“Fuck,” Varric muttered, head falling down as he felt himself losing control. So much for that fabled dwarven stamina. He scrambled a hand down to take Cole’s erection back into a strong grip and began stroking him in time with their movements. He managed to hang onto until Cole came again with the urgency of the inexperienced and then he let his own release power through him, fierce and inescapable. 

He might have blacked out for a minute or maybe Cole was just that fast but the next thing he knew he was flat on his back on the bed and Cole was clinging to him with the enthusiasm of a hungry octopus. Varric stared up at the ceiling until his brain came back to him.

“That was a better ending than your first one,” Cole told him and sounded almost smug. Isabela was a terrible influence on him. Or Hawke. Or even Fenris on a good day. It certainly wasn’t his influence.

All right, maybe it was a little from him. He _was_ trying to be honest with himself now.

Varric swallowed hard and wedged his arm around Cole’s back, settling into the astounding softness of Bertrand’s best bed. He flashed Cole a wide, contemplative grin. “It was a pretty good first draft. But everybody knows that the real gold comes out in the edits. We’ve got a lot of hard work ahead of us before we can say this part is done.”

“All right, Varric,” Cole said earnestly and pressed closer, his hands wandering back down.

“My publisher’s going to kill me,” Varric muttered but kissed Cole again anyway.

He was beginning to think that some things were just worth the trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was some schmoopy, gushy nonsense and I loved writing it. I hope some of you out there might also get a kick out of it.


End file.
